


nothing makes me happier, nothing makes me sadder than you

by orphan_account



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: I'm so sorry, M/M, this is really sad and i broke my stupid fucking heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 14:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4308654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>tyler doesn’t want to get married.</p><p>josh does. he wants a big wedding with all of his family, and tyler’s, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nothing makes me happier, nothing makes me sadder than you

**Author's Note:**

> i'm really sorry.

Josh is late.

Tyler looks at the clock on the wall, face entirely neutral even though his heart is racing and his mind is a minefield. He’s not angry, no, just scared and worried because who on earth is late to their own wedding?

He’s sure Josh will burst through those doors any second now. He doesn’t want to disappoint their guests. Maybe he got cold feet and decided not to show – Tyler decides that, ultimately, he’d rather him be a no-show than leave him stranded at the altar. He also decides that Josh not showing is fucking ridiculous because it had been his idea to get married in the first place.

He’s sure Josh will be there any second.

Seconds pass into minutes.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He doesn’t read the name or the number because it _has_ to be Josh explaining himself. He breathes a hesitant sigh of relief when he slides his thumb across the screen, thrusting it up to his ear. “Where the fuck are you?” he hisses, immediate.

“Mr. Joseph?” an unfamiliar voice asks, and Tyler’s heart falters.

 

+

 

Tyler doesn’t want to get married.

Josh does. He wants a big wedding with all of his family, and Tyler’s, too.

He never says this out loud because he’s polite and has the patience of a saint and he loves Tyler. Tyler realizes and appreciates that fact about him, but as time passes and they’re still not engaged, he begins to hint.

Josh isn’t subtle in the slightest. He talks about rings and outdoor weddings and indoor weddings at his church every other hour, eyes wide as if he’s being innocent, and Tyler nods compliantly but he never says anything in return about tying the knot.

“Would you ever want to get married?” Josh asks over dinner one night, seated at the table in their apartment, and Tyler raises an eyebrow over his plate.

“Depends on who I’d be getting married to,” Tyler tilts his head to the side, and he notices the crestfallen look that covers Josh’s face for a brief second, but he doesn’t point it out because he’s a little terrified of whatever’s around the corner.

The next evening, Tyler finds himself seated in a fancy restaurant neither he or Josh can pronounce the name of quite correctly. There’s a bottle of champagne and he’s two glasses in, pleasantly fuzzy, but it’s not enough to notice Josh wringing his hands in a nervous habit he’s always sought out to break.

He’s been acting a little strange all day, Tyler knows very well. He’s incredibly nervous, but Tyler is scared of what’s inside Josh’s head. He knows what he’s thinking about and he prays numerous times to whatever deity must be out there that Josh can’t be trying to marry him already. They’ve only been dating for a year and a half and he’s terrified of getting married, but he knows Josh too well, he can read the look in his eyes like the back of his hand.

“Do you want dessert?” he asks, sipping at his own glass, and Tyler shakes his head rapidly.

“No,” he says, and Josh smiles at him.

“Okay.”

Josh pays the cheque, despite Tyler complaining they could’ve split it evenly, and he intertwines their fingers as they walk back to Josh’s car.

 

+

 

“Speaking,” Tyler replies, managing to keep his voice in check even though his mind is quivering mess and he wants to demand he speak to his stupid fiancé.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

He wants to snap that nothing could be worse than his own husband skipping out on their wedding even though he planned every little detail, organized guest lists and caterers and florists and the venue. He keeps quiet because this isn’t this stranger’s fault, it’s his problem, but his eyes are noticeably wetter when he finds his voice and asks, “What’s wrong?”

_Car accident._

_Drunk driver._

“We’re sorry for your loss.”

_Car accident._

_Drunk driver._

“Mr. Joseph? Are you there?”

He sinks to his knees and the phone falls out of his hand, clattering to the floor. Someone rushes to his side and places a hand on the small of his back; they pick up the phone and it’s mother’s voice who asks, “Who is this?”

He picks himself up off the floor and he runs.

He doesn’t know where he’s going, but he runs outside, and he vomits into the closest bush he can reach.

 

+

 

Josh opens the passenger side door like a gentleman. Tyler leans in and kisses his cheek, softly, before sitting down and pulling the seatbelt over his chest, the door closing behind him. He has time to sink into the upholstery and close his eyes, exhaling a narrow sigh of anxiety-riddled relief as he reflects on Josh not proposing _yet_ , and he thinks he dodged quite the bullet.

He forces himself upward when the door opens and Josh slides in next to him, sticking the key in the ignition. He’s oddly quiet, eyes focused intently on the road as he shifts the car into gear, and it gives Tyler even more anxiety that he isn’t sure how to handle.

He takes Josh’s hand in his own, smiling when he glances over, curious. “Thank you for dinner.”

“Anything for you, baby,” Josh grins.

The week passes by without even the slightest mention of weddings or engagements or rings, and Tyler has time to breathe and think. Thinking, as it usually does, turns into him panicking over the slightest thing that even seems remotely strange in their days of domesticity.

Josh being gone when he wakes up one morning, closer to afternoon than anything, is one of those things that seems strange. He crawls out of bed and makes himself breathe steadily, drawn to the kitchen where he can smell bacon frying – Josh is stood over the stove, shirtless, a spatula in hand as he flips the bacon in the pan.

“Good morning,” Tyler whispers when he curls his arms around his boyfriend’s waist and smiles into his neck. Josh hums, turning to peck him on the temple.

He sits down at the table. Josh places a plate of eggs and bacon and a slice of toast down in front of him, and he grins, gratefully. “Looks good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Josh muses as he sits down across from him with his own plate and a freshly-brewed cup of coffee in his hands. He looks at Tyler over the top of the mug for a few moments, before asking, “How do you feel about our parents coming over for dinner tonight?”

Tyler takes another bite of his egg and raises an eyebrow. An ominous feeling settles in the pit of his stomach, but he chalks it up to Josh doing what he does best. “That would be nice,” he nods, and he pretends to the best of his ability that he doesn’t see the wide smile that covers his boyfriend’s face in mere seconds.

“I’ll let them know you said yes.”

Tyler chews in silence.

 

+

 

_“My condolences.”_

_“I’m so sorry for your loss, Tyler.”_

_“How are you doing, Tyler?”_

He’s tired of hearing questions he can’t answer. He’s tired of crying and sobbing and screaming into his pillow at night, he’s tired of begging for Josh to come back, he’s tired of praying for this all to have been a dream.

A scary, endless dream, where he wanders in the dark down narrow corridors, the ending being more out of the sight the closer he thinks he comes to the end. More like a nightmare that he can’t wake up from, than anything.

His mother checks on him every hour. He doesn’t look up from his pillows and blankets as she puts plates of food on his nightstand that he doesn’t touch, his stomach unable to handle even the thought of eating. When’s the last time he put a fork into his mouth? The last time he showered?

The last time he talked to Josh?

He can’t answer the first two, but he knows the third, and it sends him into a fresh bout of tears. He sobs until his face is red from his nails digging into his skin, trying to scrub it all away, he sobs until his throat is hoarse, until he falls asleep and memories of Josh play well into his dreams.

He wakes up emptier than he’s felt in weeks. His mother is sat by his bed, watching him as he stirs, shifting.

“Hi, baby. How are you?” she asks, eyes full of sympathy. He hates pity, especially over a subject that no one can change because it’s already happened, his future written in stone. He loves his mother, though, and that’s why he forces himself to smile and sit up.

The blanket pools around his waist. They still smell like Josh and he needs to change the sheets before they drive him insane, but he hasn’t been able to do much of anything lately. “I’m fine, mama.”

He’s lying. She knows he’s lying. She doesn’t point it out. It’s a small mercy, on her part, and he appreciates it. “Jenna called. She’s worried. Do you need anything?”

“What day is it?” he asks, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“Wednesday, honey.”

Wednesday. Three days after he was supposed to be married and _happy_. The funeral is scheduled for Friday.

Josh has been dead for three days, but it feels like a lifetime.

He needs a shower.

 

+

 

Dinner with their parents turns out to be dinner with their families. Josh had sent him away for the day, to do whatever he pleased with Jenna. It was suspicious, but he didn’t want to think about what Josh had in store, so he left and he didn’t look back.

Josh calls Jenna when he’s ready for them both to come back. Tyler glances at the clock on the car radio, and he’s upset when it’s only six o’clock. Maybe they could have postponed everything if it was later, if Josh ran overboard with his time, but Jenna’s driving to _their_ apartment and he feels sick to his stomach.

He presses the elevator button to their floor with a shaking hand.

Jenna looks at him, eyebrows furrowed. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t want to get married,” he blurts as the doors close in front of his face.

“What’re you talking about?” she chuckles, patting his back. “Who are you getting married to?”

He gives her a nasty look because she knows very well what he’s talking about, but the elevator clicks to a stop, and Tyler’s nerves jolt harshly in his chest. The doors slide back open, and Jenna links her arm through his, walking them both to his front door.

He doesn’t bother pulling out his key because the door won’t be locked. It opens under his hand when he twists and pulls, and Jenna stares at him, oddly. He ignores the set of eyes on his back and is greeted by the sight of everyone he’s closest to gathered in his home.

Josh is chatting with his brothers in the kitchen. He looks up when he hears the door close, and he beams when he sees Tyler enter. He smiles back on instinct, ignoring those around him who are talking in variously-sized groups of twos and threes and fours, Josh’s family interacting with his. His mother waves to him and Madison grins, and he waves at them both, nearly bumping into Jordan’s chest.

“Whoa, hi,” Tyler chuckles, and Jordan pulls him into a hug. He grits his teeth and forces himself to be happy as he moves into the kitchen, cornering Josh where he stands next to a bowl of chips. Zack and Jay smile at him, undeniably giggly for whatever reason, and they exit the kitchen as soon as he appears.

“What’s all this about?” he swallows, taking Josh’s hand in his own.

“You’ve seemed a little stressed lately,” Josh sighs, popping a chip into his mouth with his free hand. He’s avoiding making eye contact, favoring looking out into the crowd gathered in their living room. “I wanted to do something nice for you.”

“This is wonderful,” Tyler says, and he’s being honest. He’s a nervous wreck on the inside, but he loves Josh with everything he has in him, loves him for noticing that he was stressed beyond belief.

 

+

 

He takes a shower with the water as hot as he can stand on his skin. He rips his fingernails against every inch of skin he can to release some of the sadness within him and he sobs against the wall, body shaking with the amount of energy he’s exerting.

He uses Josh’s shampoo and envelops himself in the scent.

His mother makes him food when he staggers to their – no, _his_ , it’s all his now, everything because Josh isn’t here any more – kitchen, eyes red-rimmed and swollen. He sits at the table and he forces himself to eat as much as he can because he knows Josh will be disappointed if he reverts back into the way he was when they met.

He eats half of it, and she smiles at him proudly. He engages her in conversation for as long as he can before he has to excuse himself to his bedroom, curling up underneath his blankets.

Josh would be disappointed. He cries again at painful memories until it seems like he’s run out of tears, his body exhausted and his mind a treachery.

When he wakes up, he’s alone. He guesses he’ll have to get used to that – he strips the sheets off of his bed and he throws them into a ball in the corner of the room. He pulls his ukulele off of its stand and sits in the middle of the plain white mattress, strumming out plain cords and Josh’s favorite songs and random, disjointed choruses from different songs that they liked to sing along to in the car. His voice is weak and horse and quivery from crying, and he ends up in tears, bowed over the ukulele cradled in his wavering hands.

He’s no good at writing, but he hasn’t even started on a eulogy.

The funeral is in two days. How do you put together everything you’ve ever known and loved about someone on only a few pieces of paper? His love for Josh is a novel that doesn’t quite make sense to anyone but them, pages missing and ripped out, torn apart, dog-earned and highlighted and bookmarked on every page he knows by heart.

The short answer is that you can’t.

He runs his fingers over his ukulele and he plays a song that he’s tried to work the kinks out of for two years. He doesn’t know what went through his mind when he wrote the cords, but the lyrics flowed out of him and onto the paper like a river, and he knew when it was almost finished who it was for.

He’ll never get to hear it, but it makes a nice eulogy.

 

+

 

Josh has baked a cake, and he has champagne. He brings it to the table, and Tyler cuts the cake as he laughs with their adjoining families, and Josh pours glasses of the bubbling liquid.

Champagne is a celebratory drink, Tyler knows. Josh loves it and he’ll use any excuse to bring a bottle, even if it is just for a fourth of July barbecue.

Josh touches his hand, carefully, and Tyler looks up from the knife, movement paused.

“I bet you’re all wondering why you’re here,” he clears his throat and announces, standing up straighter. All attention is turned to him, and Tyler nearly drops the knife onto the carpet. He sets it aside, heart beating rapidly inside his chest. “Truth is, I’d like to ask Tyler a question.”

Josh laughs, jittery and nervous, and Tyler knows what’s happening. He knows why there’s champagne and he doesn’t want there to be and he wants to run needs to run needs to leave he can’t do this right now not today he can’t get _married_ –

Josh glances at him from the corner of his eye, and Tyler smiles, all innocence.

He turns to him, and Tyler begs him not to get down on one knee. He doesn’t, but Tyler knows what’s on his mind, as if it’s his own.

“Tyler,” he begins, and tears slip down Tyler’s cheeks, unannounced. Everyone gathered ‘ _awws’_ as if they know why, because Josh is going to propose like he’s been meaning to for the past month, but those tears are from another cause. “I’ve known from the moment I met you that we were meant to be together.”

“Oh my god,” Tyler whispers, and he hears someone laugh. Someone else coughs awkwardly, and more tears spill down his cheeks. He can’t say no, not with everyone around him, watching him – why would he want to say no? God, he’s selfish, isn’t he? He loves Josh with all of his heart, and he wants to marry him someday, but everything is happening too _quickly_.

“I’ve been thinking for the past month,” Josh continues, and Tyler knows that to be true. “That I want to spend the rest of my life with you. It’s been that way for a while, but I guess I’ve finally gathered up the courage to ask you. I almost did, on Monday, when we went to dinner, but it didn’t feel like the right time.”

Josh drops to one knee.

Tyler chokes on his spit.

He pulls a small black, velvet box out of the pocket of his pants, and he grins up at Tyler like he’s the one who strung the universe and the stars and the moon and the sun and the sky together when he opens the box.

“Will you marry me?”

 

+

 

Tyler spends all night in the middle of the bed strumming the same cords, singing the same lyrics. His voice nearly gives out several times, and his mother checks on him all throughout the time he’s awake.

He smiles at her, once, when she pokes her head through his partially-cracked door. He’s fixed it all, and it’s perfect – Josh would be proud of him. He’d love the song because it was fashioned for him, and only him. “Hi,” he says, and she walks all the way inside, seating herself on the edge of the bed.

“What are you writing?” she asks, eyes sad and happy, all at once.

“It was for Josh,” he sighs, chest heaving, and he prides himself on the fact that he doesn’t cry. He can do this. He taps his fingers on the ukulele, and she smiles at him, sadly. “Do you want to hear it?”

She nods.

He plays, and his voice breaks on the last syllable of the last word, sobbing as if his life depended on it. She takes the ukulele away and places it on the floor, propped up against the bed, and gathers him in her arms.

“I miss him so much,” he whispers against her shoulder, and she cries, too.

 

+

 

“Yes.”

He says _yes_ , and Josh slips the ring onto his finger. It’s a simple black band, but it’s beautiful, shining in sharp contrast against the pale skin of his fourth finger.

He laughs out a choking sob, and Josh springs up, pulling Tyler into a tight, bone-crushing hug. He cries into his shoulder, a mix of terrified and wonderfully happy, and he realizes that maybe, he did want to get married the entire time.

Their families clap and laugh and congratulate them, patting them on the back, and Tyler continues to cut the cake and pass it out. He admires his ring and he smiles – Josh loops an arm around his waist and stares at the ring, and kisses his cheek.

That night, after everyone is sent home, they curl up to each other in their bed, whispering wedding ideas to each other and giggling and admiring their matching rings.

The black reflects the moonlight, shining into Tyler’s eyes, and he smiles, fondly.

“I was afraid you were going to say no,” Josh admits, sighing contently into Tyler’s shoulder.

He stills, because he almost _did_ , but he can’t let Josh know that. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

A fresh wave of guilt hits Tyler. He’s thankful when Josh pulls him tighter into his embrace and asks, “What sounds better, Joseph-Dun or Dun-Joseph?”

“Tyler Joseph-Dun? Tyler Dun-Joseph,” he tries both, giddy with happiness.

“Josh Joseph-Dun,” Josh laughs. “I like it. What about you?”

“I like anything involving you.”

 

+

 

The fact that Tyler’s closet is made up of mostly black clothing is rather morbid.

He has a suit, which he hates. He hates suits, in general, because they’re stiff and uncomfortable and they never seem to fit correctly around his shoulders or waist because he’s a small person, but he hates this one more than any other suit he’s ever been forced into wearing.

Josh picked it out, had it custom-fitted for his fiancé. He wore it to his wedding, which never happened, because some dumbass drunk out of their mind ran a red light and killed Josh before he could get there.

He never did meet the person who did it. He hopes they’re suffering in jail, and it’s awful, but he can’t find it within him to care.

The suit is shoved to the back of the closet, wrapped in the same material that it came back to him from the dry cleaner’s that his mother sent it to, so he wouldn’t have to look at it. She insisted that he should keep it for god knows what reason, and he did, even though he wanted to burn it to nothing but ash. He pulls it down and he stares at it in his hands and he wants to cry, feel anything other than the unbearable anguish locked in his chest, but he’s all out of tears.

He dresses himself. His eyes are hollow when he looks at himself in the mirror. He’s a mess.

He puts his ukulele in its case, and his fingers shake when he pulls the zipper. How many nights had he spent, strumming away at this thing for Josh, singing to him on the couch as he watched him, love in his eyes? How many times had he sat at the kitchen counter and played for Josh as he cooked breakfast, chords to Josh’s favorite songs as he cheerfully sand along?

Countless times and countless memories that he’d never be able to do again.

Josh loved sunny days. It shines bright into Tyler’s eyes when he steps outside – his family and Josh’s family are gathered by the line of cars, arms around each other, praying. He stands back and waits until they’re done because he’s still bitter, and he hasn’t prayed since the morning Josh died.

They look at him when they separate, and the same emotions are mirrored in their eyes.

He climbs in the back of his mother’s and father’s car, not trusting himself to drive in the state he’s in.

 

+

 

They are engaged for three months before Josh begins to prepare for the wedding. They’re taking things as slow as possible, per Tyler’s request, and he appreciates Josh’s patience beyond belief because he knows he’s growing antsy.

Josh calls florists and caterers and he searches endlessly for the perfect venue. They decide on Josh’s church, and they pastors are glad to have them – Tyler picks the music, combinations of their favorite songs, and a few of his own original pieces.

Everything is organized within the next three months. They pick a date – December 29th – and organize a guest list, consisting of their families and a majority of their closest friends. Tyler hand-writes invites until he thinks he’ll give himself carpal tunnel syndrome, and they mail them the next day.

Tyler throws up the night before the wedding. Josh pats his back through it and hands him a cup of water, squeezing his hand. He stares up at him, gratefully, and Josh kisses his forehead softly.

“Do you want to hold off?” he asks, but his eyes betray his emotions.

“No,” Tyler says, smiling to the best of the ability, but he’s having the worst anxiety of his life and he’s sure he’ll be panicking in the next five seconds.

 

+

 

Tyler cries, and he cries, and he cries.

His mother endlessly supplies him with tissues as people come and stand in front of the gathered, mourning families, speaking their own eulogies. He thought he ran out of tears, but they keep coming, flowing down his cheeks and his mouth tastes entirely like bile.

Someone calls his name, and he glances up, squinting through his tears. They’re beckoning him to the front, because they want him to speak, to honor his dead fiancé’s memory with his words.

God, he’s bad with words. He takes the ukulele out of its case and holds onto it, letting it ground him as he walks steadily forward, his own finesse surprising himself.

He can do this.

All he’s done is practice the song, over and over and over, for no reason. Josh won’t even be around to hear it. He wipes his tears away and he puts his hands in the right position.

It feels wrong to play this song, here. The crowd stares up at him, waiting, and he stares back, frozen. It’s too upbeat and fast for a funeral, because he wrote it when he was new to love, going through the motions as they came; he’d never been so in love with someone as he was with Josh, and he let those feelings out with his music.

It feels wrong without Josh next to him, listening and dancing slightly as he strums the ukulele.

He coughs, and he strums the first cord. His finger slips, but he falls into the rhythm, and he feels like he could fall in love all over again.

_“We don’t believe what’s on TV,_

_Because it’s what we want to see,_

_And what we want, we know we can’t believe,_

_We have all learned to kill our dreams._

_I need to know that when I fail you’ll still be here,_

_‘Cause if you stick around I’ll sing you pretty sounds,_

_And we’ll make money selling your hair._

_I don’t care what’s in your hair,_

_I just want to know what’s on your mind,_

_I used to say, “I want to die before I’m old,”_

_But because of you I might think twice.”_

He pauses, his voice cracking, faltering, and he bursts into tears. He thought he could do it, but the emptiness is threatening to swallow him whole, and he knows that he can’t.

He nods to himself more than anything, and he returns to his seat, and he buries his head in his hands.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on tumblr/twitter if you want to yell at me bc i probably deserve it  
> @blurryfced / tumblr  
> @blurryfceds / twitter


End file.
